


Come Together

by Deathstar510



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathstar510/pseuds/Deathstar510
Summary: Quark and Worf's fledgling relationship has been tested by cultural divide and now it's to be tested by the Dominion War.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katiemariie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/gifts).



> Written for Round 4 of the Star Trek Rarepair Swap, for katiemariie, hope you enjoy!

Cardassians really could do with brushing up on a few of their Rules of Acquisition.  More than just a few of them, actually, but only one stood out specifically in Quark’s mind right now, as the black hole he’d only just finished mixing was snatched from him by a clawed hand.  Rule 147.  People _love_ the bartender.

At this point, he would even settle for ‘people _tolerated_  the bartender’ as long as it meant the end of insults, failure to pay tabs, and in a couple notable cases actually _attacking_ him.  Truly, not the highest bar to pass, but the Cardassians never failed to underwhelm in the manners department.  Not that it would change Quark’s customer service of course.  He was a professional.  That and he liked having all of his bones firmly intact and in the right places.  The scratches he occasionally got on his hands from Cardassians not paying attention to their claws would be nothing compared to what he would get if he actively angered them.

It had been easier to ensure his own safety when the Federation was in – no.  He changed the thought’s course before he could even finish it.  It had been easier to ensure his own safety when _Worf_ was here.  Starfleet, of course, wouldn’t have stood for its officers abusing a civilian, but the response would have come later, after a long and picky investigation.  If all went well, someone was actually punished but it changed nothing about the original incident.

Worf preferred to stop things before they even got to that point and most of the time it only took his presence to do that.  Few wanted to start a fight with the bartender with a Klingon five feet away unless they could be sure that he would be on their side.  No one had made that mistake  yet, Worf made his allegiances quite clear.  He may not have been the most demonstrative mate a Ferengi could ask for, but the warning glares leveled at anyone that so much as looked at Quark wrong were as good as a kiss really.  Certainly better for business.  Nobody came to Quark’s to watch his relationships on display after all.

Quark missed him.

That ate at him sometimes, when he let himself think too hard on this situation, on Worf’s absence.  Not just during rough nights at the bar when his customers let their rudeness edge into straight out hostility. Nights in his own bed also started to feel awfully quiet when he knew that he had no other options.  Worf wasn’t on the station, wasn’t even in the system, or possibly in the quadrant at all – hard to say when no one had any news on the Defiant’s status, it or any other ship in the fleet.  Possibly it wasn’t even intact anymore; there were so many ways a ship could be destroyed in a war.  So many ways someone could die.  Even a Klingon.  Or his nephew, that couldn’t be forgotten, that Nog was out there in all of this too.  He could be sure that Worf was watching him, as much as he could in any case, but that didn’t mean much in the long run.  They could still die.  Either of them.  Both of them.

Quark tried not to let himself get too far down that road.  Nothing could come out of torturing himself with thoughts of news he couldn’t get – and wasn’t that an odd feeling all on its own.  News that he couldn’t get.  Not even from the few Cardassians that would be open to sharing a little bit of chat.  No one had the news of the Defiant’s status, let alone individuals.  No one he could get to talk at least.  Quark was so used to having all the cards at least within reach, even if they weren’t in his hands.  Now he didn’t even have a full hand, let alone a winning one.  He didn’t think he could actually sleep less than he already did, running at the bare minimum he could manage for the sake of profit, but it turned out that wasn’t true.  Worrying about Worf and Nog shaved at _least_ an extra hour off every night.  Not even for additional profit.  Just for _worrying_.  He was lucky he could run the bar at all.

The slam of an empty glass on the counter shook him from the easy autopilot his thoughts had led him to.

“Ferengi!”  The Cardassian with the sharp claws.  “Another black hole and hurry up with it!”

Quark’s breath came out all in one heavy huff, sounding much more pouty than he’d wanted it to.  Worf had taught him a handful of tricks for self defense but absolutely nothing about how to sound dangerous enough to not be looked down on in the first place.

If – no when Worf came back, he couldn’t let himself start thinking in ifs or he’d never sleep again – that  would need to be the first thing Quark demanded from him.  Lessons on sounding dangerous without actively diving into threats.  Second thing at least.  The first thing might have to be that they hole up in private for a week and don’t come out.  Sounding dangerous could come when Quark was absolutely satisfied that Worf had come back in one piece.

He just had to make it until then.  Quark took the glass being roughly thrust in his direction.

Cardassians may not have loved the bartender, but at least someone out there did, even if he couldn’t be sure just where that someone was just now.

***

Starbases were too quiet for Worf’s tastes.  375 was no exception to that as he rapidly found out the instant they’d docked there for more than a day or two.  Truthfully, most Klingons would find it too quiet.  When there were battles to be fought, instinct told them to be there for it.  Leave was fine, in small doses, but never quite as important to Klingons as it had been for the Federation.  That showed in how quickly the crew grew eager to deploy again.  The crew had their rest, their drink and food, and now they were ready to fight once more, but circumstance kept them there, let his men grow agitated and bored.

The Rotarran docking here had one benefit though.  He could exchange reports with Commander Dax, make sure that the Defiant – still more his home than Deep Space 9 had ever managed, no matter who waited for him there – was still in one piece.  Then he could make sure that his few belongings that he still had remaining on the ship had survived the war thus far.

Then he could check on Nog.

Not that the boy hadn’t more than proven he could take care of himself.  Worf honestly had to admit he was impressed with just how well Nog had done in his first war.  Surviving multiple battles, capture by the Jem’Hadar, he was quite the soldier for a Ferengi.  More of one than Alexander was proving to be.  Not a surprise, perhaps, Worf still found himself reeling from the fact that his son had involved himself in this war at all, but notable nonetheless.  It always would be when a Ferengi outperformed a Klingon in a fight.

Despite his surprising prowess, however, Nog was still the nephew of his Par’mach’kai.  Even if nothing had been formalized in proper ceremony, he was as good as a member of Worf’s house, his responsibility.  No matter how confident he’d like to be in him, it didn’t mean Worf could make himself stop worrying about him.  Besides.  If he couldn’t protect Quark – and that was a thought that nagged at him more and more the longer they went without any word from Deep Space 9 – he could still make certain that Nog stayed safe.

If he returned with the news that the boy had been killed, Worf was certain he’d never be able to look Quark straight in the eye again.  If he returned to a dead station… well, if only one of them could make it out of this war alive, he knew that Quark would have preferred it to be Nog.

That made him pause mid step, suck in a deep breath to slow an instinctive adrenaline rush that surged through him at the thought of Quark dying in this battle.  Were he mated to a fellow Klingon, he would have no need to fear, not truly.  They would either live and meet him after the battle’s end, celebrate their lives and their victory, or they would die a warrior’s death and await him in Sto’vo’kor when he met his own fate.  There would always be that promise of reunion.

There would be no reunion, if either of them were to die.  Quark would not go to Sto’vo’kor; Worf couldn’t say that he believed that he would _want_ to even.  If Worf died and that was his destination, he would know that Quark would never come to join him.  That haunted him when he let himself dwell on it, that after death there would be that separation.  That no matter how tightly they tied their hearts together in this world, it would only last through one life.  They could not follow each other, not in this.

He tried not to let himself linger on the topic.  If there was to be no reunion for them in the next life, then it only meant that he had to savor what he had in this one.  He couldn’t do that if he concerned himself only with what was to come.  It worked well enough, in peace time, when he could see Quark, keep him near and know he was safe, protect him if it came down to it.

In a war?  Then all he could see was that Quark was no Klingon.

Worf shook his head, pulled himself together before he continued down the hall to the Defiant’s dock.  His spine stayed straight, posture firm when he spotted crewmen bustling around the Defiant’s exterior airlock.  These concerns belonged firmly within his head, not out on his face where they could be seen by anyone happening to take a glance at him.  If he wasn’t careful, someone may even see fit to ask him what was _wrong_.  A fate best avoided.

When someone did spot him, Worf had clearly done enough to keep himself stern and unreadable.  The only reaction he received was a point in Nog’s direction – he’d come here asking for the same Cadet often enough that they’d started to remember it.  Not his preference, at all, it was unnecessary to have so much of his personal life known to the general crew, but when faced when his inner concerns being found out, it was the lesser of the two evils.

He turned sharply in the indicated direction, ducked into another crowd of crewmen.  No Nog in sight, but that meant almost nothing.  “Cadet,” he called out, loud enough to be heard, and Nog almost immediately popped up from an open panel in the floor.  Despite being deep enough inside of it that only his head showed over the edge, he hoisted himself out of it and scrambled to his feet when he spotted Worf.

Nog stood at attention, chin raised, their gazes locking immediately.  “Commander.”  This had already become almost ritualized.  Worf indicated for Nog to follow him to the side of the room, out of the crew’s way.  Investigating his wellbeing was at least simple, short, a rundown of a list to make sure that the boy was alright and fit for battle.

His intentions were never questioned, Nog simply accepted the concern.  Worf was glad – he honestly didn’t know how he could have explained it if he tried.

It was hard enough making sense of it to himself.

***

When the station was theirs again, families reuniting on the Promenade, Worf only felt his heart clenching in his chest.  Among the taller heads, Quark’s wasn’t immediately visible in the crowd and he found himself instead following Nog’s trek with his eyes.  The boy darted straight for his family, somehow finding them despite being so small he couldn’t possibly be seeing them.  He found Rom first, then Leeta, and Worf found himself frozen in place until he finally saw Quark trailing behind.  Quark came to stand in front of his nephew, took him by the shoulders, and immediately started checking him over for injuries before pulling him in for a tight hug.

Alive.  He was alive.  Worf’s fear turned to a sudden pride – the station may not have been a warzone, but it was dangerous in its own way and Quark had survived it.  As soon as Worf stepped from the shadows, Quark’s head jerked up, like he’d been listening for the precise sound of Worf’s boots against the floor.

Sharp teeth immediately bared in a fanged grin and Quark inclined his head towards the bar before disappearing into it.

Forget quarters.  They’d be lucky to make it as far as the back room.


End file.
